


Dynamic

by sanerontheinside



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: I don't even go here but hey I guess I just did, M/M, SubObi Week, Written for the QuiObi Writing Discord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanerontheinside/pseuds/sanerontheinside
Summary: The worst of it was that Dooku claimed complete control and held it with an iron fist. It was almost certain that whatever Obi-Wan wanted, Dooku found ways to take: to pull pleasure from him, rather than give it. Dooku knew exactly how to push Obi-Wan over the edge, or how to keep him there. Dooku knew just where to touch him,howto touch him.How tonottouch him.
Relationships: Dooku/Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 106
Collections: SubObi Weeks





	Dynamic

**Author's Note:**

> _*casually breezes in 2 days late with starbucks*_ hey guys sorry I'm late I didn't know I was gonna come 
> 
> I was abroad, wrote smut on a beach while drinking wine. Came back and discovered that a) subobi week had already started, and b) this probably qualified for day one: forced orgasm/overstimulation. 
> 
> I make no apologies. No, we are not accepting criticism at this time. 
> 
> Please do enjoy!

With Dooku, Obi-Wan never knew what to expect—a fast, hard fuck or an eternity on a knife’s edge, until he was sobbing, begging for release. 

The worst of it was that Dooku claimed complete control and held it with an iron fist. It was almost certain that whatever Obi-Wan wanted, Dooku found ways to  _ take:  _ to pull pleasure from him, rather than give it. Dooku knew exactly how to push Obi-Wan over the edge, or how to keep him there. Dooku knew just where to touch him,  _ how _ to touch him. 

How to  _ not _ touch him. 

Tonight Dooku seemed to be set on denying him any contact, and Obi-Wan ached for it. Barely through the door after a lengthy, exhausting Council debrief, Obi-Wan had leaned in, lips parted, but Dooku had ignored the silent request, and even stepped back a pace. Instead, he’d simply ordered Obi-Wan to strip and get on the bed on all fours in that tone of voice that went right to Obi-Wan’s knees: detached, disinterested, perhaps even bored. 

Dooku followed that with the command for Obi-Wan to work himself open. A toy specifically chosen for that purpose—generously sized and already lubricated—awaited him on a neatly folded towel. Obi-Wan barely suppressed a whimper at the sight of the long, curved plug. 

“Do not touch yourself,” Dooku uttered coolly. “You are only to prepare yourself for use.” 

Obi-Wan did whimper at that. 

It wasn’t that Qui-Gon couldn’t carry the role of an implacable taskmaster, or that he wasn’t willing to try just about anything if it pleased Obi-Wan. But, since entering into a relationship with his former Padawan—tentatively, enthusiastically—Qui-Gon had struggled to find a balance between his role as Obi-Wan’s Master and his lover. 

Dooku had no such difficulties. 

It wasn’t even that they’d intended to include a third in their relationship. Dooku had simply somehow fit his own self in, in much the same way that the world seemed to fit itself around him. It was both irritating and elating, much like the man himself. 

And Dooku’s presence, for all that Qui-Gon sometimes chafed against it, helped them find a balance. Dooku could be aloof, distant in a way that excited Obi-Wan unbearably. He withheld any hint of affection or approval, made Obi-Wan work for it, praised him only rarely. Qui-Gon naturally found a place between Dooku and Obi-Wan, able to give Obi-Wan the sort of tenderness that didn’t come easily to Dooku at all. 

Dooku could make him feel like an object, a body for his use. Qui-Gon made him feel cherished, cared for. 

When Dooku took him like this, Obi-Wan wasn’t allowed to speak, moved only when and how Dooku told him to. He certainly wasn’t allowed to touch himself, or to come, without express instruction. 

Dooku had held off and watched Obi-Wan for about a minute—little more, though it felt like an eternity. An eternity of that burning gaze heavy on his skin, on the plug in his hands as Obi-Wan worked it into his hole. That silent judgement always brought out the performer in him. Hands already trembling, he made himself slow down, drawing out the experience; rotated the plug a little and shivered as the point dragged over the exact right spot. His cock twitched. 

“Enough.”

Dooku knelt on the bed behind Obi-Wan, nudging the Knight’s knees apart almost carelessly. He knocked Obi-Wan’s hand from the plug, rocked it back and forth twice more, unerringly driving it against his sweet spot to the sound of Obi-Wan’s strangled moans. Then, setting the toy aside on the folded towel again with a precision that took Obi-Wan’s breath away, Dooku rose up over him. He put his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders in an iron-hard grip, and pressed against his entrance steadily. 

It was too slow and it was somehow too much. The hard hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders dragged him back onto the Master’s cock, inexorable and unyielding. Dooku followed the motion through, guiding them back until Obi-Wan sat straddling his lap, legs spread wide enough to be just on the edge of uncomfortable. Obi-Wan’s breath came too fast. 

Those warm hands left his shoulders, fastened on his hips in a tight, grounding hold. 

“You like this,” Dooku growled into his ear. “You like to be spread like this, when you’re being fucked.” 

Spread so wide, Obi-Wan felt exposed. Vulnerable. The position drew his channel tight around the erection seated deep inside him, made it impossible to ignore even the slightest hitch of Dooku’s breath. He was completely at Dooku’s mercy. 

Obi-Wan loved it. 

Dooku’s hands, warm and large and rough, ran up his sides, soothing, gentling him. Those warm fingers trailed down his ribcage as he fought to steady his breathing again, to relax around the unforgiving pressure inside him. It was difficult—Dooku deliberately made it so, feathering light, raspy touches against the taut tendons of Obi-Wan’s wide-spread legs. Obi-Wan trembled under those ticklish strokes, under the pressure of Dooku’s thumbs at the join of his legs and torso. It didn’t seem as though Dooku was inclined to give him a more satisfying touch, and he stubbornly bypassed Obi-Wan’s cock. 

Perhaps Qui-Gon’s presence tonight had Dooku wanting to show off just how good he was at drawing this out. 

The thought made something hot and contrary and rebellious flare up in Obi-Wan, prickling in his stomach like indignation. 

He wouldn’t beg for it. He was a Knight, Force damn it all. If Dooku offered him only this and no more, Obi-Wan would make the most of it. 

He sank into the moment, basked in it. So many sensations… the prickle of a beard against his neck and shoulder, the brush of Dooku’s fingers as he traced over the muscles of Obi-Wan’s torso. The un-gentle drag of a calloused thumb against Obi-Wan’s nipples had him twitching, involuntarily tightening around Dooku’s cock. 

Retribution was swift and startling: a sharp twist to his nipples had Obi-Wan gasping, arching into it and throwing his head back against Dooku’s shoulder. The rumble of his laugh, deeper and darker than Qui-Gon’s, made Obi-Wan shiver. 

“Look at you,” Dooku all but sneered. “So eager.”

Somewhere across the room, barely visible in the shadows, Qui-Gon was watching. Obi-Wan remembered that, and shivered. He was perfectly on display for his Master, Obi-Wan realised, from the bared curve of his throat to the arch of his chest, erection lewdly on display between his spread thighs. How appropriate. 

Dooku seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. “That’s right, Obi-Wan. He has the best view, and he’s not allowed to touch. Are you thinking about his hands on you? His mouth on your cock?” 

A flash of heat shot up Obi-Wan's spine. So intense were the sensations Dooku’s words conjured that Obi-Wan’s cock twitched, and leaked a generous bead of precome. 

Dooku’s fingers dropped from the center of Obi-Wan’s chest to tease at the edge of the crisp, curling hair, light touches making his belly tighten in nervous little flutters. But Dooku didn’t come any closer to where Obi-Wan wanted those clever fingers most. 

“That perfect mouth,” Dooku mused. “You’ll have to earn it, I think.” 

_ Anything, _ Obi-Wan thought desperately. He could do anything if it meant he would be touched, stroked, held. Dooku wasn’t the sort: he didn’t seem to enjoy that full-body contact. But where Dooku stopped short, Qui-Gon was always ready to catch Obi-Wan before he fell. 

“Qui-Gon,” Dooku commanded softly. 

Immediately, Qui-Gon sat forward, almost visible out of the shadows. 

“Come here, Padawan,” Dooku said, “show him what he’s missing.” 

Qui-Gon shifted into the narrow fall of the light to kneel on the floor at the edge of the bed, in front of Obi-Wan. On cue, Dooku offered him his own hand, two fingers extended. Qui-Gon leaned forward, clasped Dooku’s wrist and guided his fingers to his lips. 

“Watch.” Dooku’s voice was dangerously quiet in Obi-Wan’s ear. 

Qui-Gon didn’t hesitate. He looked Obi-Wan in the eye as he took Dooku’s fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking the way he knew Obi-Wan liked. Obi-Wan didn’t dare close his eyes. It was too easy to imagine that hot tongue laving at the underside of his cock. All too easy to imagine Qui-Gon pulling back to tease the head with the tip of his tongue, the way he was now teasing at Dooku’s fingertips. 

Obi-Wan watched, wide-eyed and breathless, leaking precome onto the neatly made bed. His grip on his own thighs was white-knuckled, nails digging in. 

“Or maybe I should make you earn the privilege of putting your own smart mouth to good use,” Dooku said. “Look at you, all wet and desperate.” 

In front of him, Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon shut his eyes tight and shudder. 

“Picture it. Your mouth on his cock, while I fuck you.” 

Obi-Wan groaned. He fought to concentrate on that bright spark of pain, his fingernails digging into his legs. 

Dooku noticed, of course. “Give me your hands.” 

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan did. Immediately, his wrists were pinned together in an iron clasp at the middle of his back. 

“Stand up, Qui-Gon.” 

A hard hand pressed into the center of Obi-Wan’s back, bending him forward as Qui-Gon rose. His balance felt precarious, despite the steadying grip on his wrists. In this position, he could no longer see Qui-Gon’s face without straining his neck. Obi-Wan mourned that loss. But it gave him a perfect view of Qui-Gon’s cock. 

“That’s what you want,” Dooku said. “Go on, taste it.” 

A high-pitched sound snagged in Obi-Wan’s throat. He bent lower. For a split second he hesitated, lips parted just shy of contact. It was the tiny catch in Qui-Gon’s breath that convinced him, and Obi-Wan moved that last bit of distance to close his lips around the head of Qui-Gon’s cock. 

He could almost see the clench of Qui-Gon’s muscles above him. Obi-Wan licked away the fluid, tongue swiping over the slit and at the glans, teasing Qui-Gon the way he’d been teased, before. There was a gentle sigh above him, and then Qui-Gon’s fingers were running lightly through his hair. 

“How does he feel, Padawan? Does it feel good?” 

Obi-Wan dared to add a little suction. Qui-Gon’s hips twitched forward, barely noticeable. “... Yes.”

“You’ll wait your turn, then. Let go of him, Obi-Wan.” 

Mournful, but obedient, Obi-Wan shifted back, following the light tug on his arms. He lifted his gaze to Qui-Gon, as much as he could manage. Qui-Gon’s hand left off petting him, but came back to pass a gentle thumb over his lips. 

Dooku rewarded Obi-Wan with a shallow, well-placed thrust. “I’m going to fuck you hard, Kenobi,” he said, tone as bland as if he were discussing the weather. “I am going to use that tight hole until I find my release. Then I’m going to put that toy back in you. And if you’re very good, I’ll give you to Qui-Gon. You’ll suck his cock, and then you’ll take what he gives you. Do you understand?” 

Obi-Wan nodded. 

“Good.” Dooku let go of his wrists. “Keep your hands behind you. And Obi-Wan?” 

That was a dangerous tone. The sort of tone that promised to take Obi-Wan to the very edge of sanity. His shoulders tensed. 

“Don’t come.” 

Dooku began a hard, pounding rhythm. Obi-Wan had barely enough time to curl his fingers tightly over his forearms and pitch forward into the bedspread. Face down, ass up, taking whatever Dooku saw fit to give him. Obi-Wan was driven forward with every thrust and yanked back by the hard hands on his hips. 

He felt like he was flying. His cock swayed and bounced with every thrust, in counterpoint to the hot pulse of his heartbeat. Dooku was merciless as ever, occasionally letting go of his hips to pinch or slap him in sensitive spots. He plucked at Obi-Wan’s nipples and twisted roughly, pinched the delicate skin of his inner thighs, laid a rough slap on his ass. 

Still, Dooku avoided any touch to his cock. There was no friction, not even against the bedspread. Dooku thrust unerringly against his sweet spot, the relentless stimulation driving him higher and higher. 

Obi-Wan was almost beginning to think he’d be able to get through this without breaking. Then Dooku dropped a hand to his balls and squeezed. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth fell open on a harsh cry, his orgasm sudden and powerful. 

He came back to himself moments later, panting and mortified. His cock spasmed between his legs, untouched and very nearly aching for it, still spurting out the last of his release onto the bed. Just beyond it he could see Dooku’s hand closed around him. 

Dooku tutted. “No self control at all, Kenobi. I expected better of you.” 

His hold on Obi-Wan’s balls hadn’t loosened. But then his fingers moved,  _ kneading, _ and Obi-Wan cried out. 

There was a hand in Obi-Wan’s hair, suddenly, nails scratching against his scalp as the fingers tightened into a fist and tugged him upright. 

“You promised my Padawan something,” Dooku reminded him. The hand in his hair shook him slightly, forced him to look up at Qui-Gon’s flushed face. 

Qui-Gon’s eyes burned; he swept Obi-Wan with heated look from his face to his groin, and then back up again. Obi-Wan blushed hard, knowing how he must look: flushed, ruined, cock wet and messy with his release. 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, and reached out to swipe a finger across the sensitive head. Even that brief touch had Obi-Wan hissing, tightening uncontrollably around Dooku. He regretted it instantly: the movement sent a bolt of burning, spiky heat through him. Qui-Gon only smiled, brought that finger to his lips, and held Obi-Wan’s gaze as he licked it clean. 

“I-I’m—” Obi-Wan gasped as Dooku angled another slight thrust, just  _ there.  _ It was nearly too much now. “I’m sorry! Master, I—” 

Dooku chuckled. “Oh, I’ve no doubt that you are.” He started a rolling motion with his hips. “You’ll be held to account, Kenobi, not to worry.”

Dooku released his grip on Obi-Wan’s hair. 

“Some further lessons in control will be necessary, I believe,” he went on. 

Dooku’s free hand trailed down Obi-Wan’s shoulder, gave his nipple a brief, sharp flick on its way down—to wrap around Obi-Wan’s softening cock. A ripple of something that was more thrill than shame passed through him on a rippling wave of sensation, nerves plucked like a thousand tiny strings. 

“And maybe some tools to help you keep it. A cage, perhaps?” 

Dooku’s touch on his cock was warm and light, yet it felt dangerous. It captured all of his attention and centered it there. 

“But, no. Qui-Gon likes your cock too much—don’t you, Qui-Gon?” 

Qui-Gon shot a somewhat annoyed look at Dooku. But when he looked at Obi-Wan again, he smiled. “I do,” he agreed. 

Dooku squeezed, slowly and steadily. 

Too much, too soon—too sensitive. Obi-Wan squirmed helplessly, struggling to close his thighs against Dooku’s unyielding knees, uselessly trying to shift away from Dooku’s grip. 

“Pity,” Dooku said above him, apparently unconcerned. Mercifully, the clasp eased a little. “A ring, then. Something to bind his balls, and keep him tied up for you. What a pretty picture he’d be.” 

Dooku thrust again, gently, and Obi-Wan felt his muscles tighten around that hard cock inside him in a helpless, rolling wave. It was just on the edge of what he could bear, and fast tipping over. His body struggled to get away, to escape the pressure inside and out: the unrelenting pressure against his sweet spot, the stretch of his opening around Dooku’s length, the alternating slow squeezes on his balls or around his softened cock. 

Worse, any motion only stimulated him further. It felt like all that rush, all the electricity thrumming through his body in the height of orgasm, had gathered and centered at the root of him, pulsing with his heartbeat and with Dooku’s every squeeze. It was… not unpleasant. But every time Dooku released him, Obi-Wan needed the pressure even more; and in the same instant, he couldn’t bear it. His body instinctively struggled to get away, but the most he could accomplish was a pathetic, useless wriggling, like a hooked fish. 

And yet he was hardening in Dooku’s hands. 

He was helpless, completely at Dooku’s mercy, and Dooku was not in the mood to be merciful. The realisation tore a desperate moan from him. 

“Qui-Gon, come here. Get on the bed and keep him quiet.” 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes as Qui-Gon knelt on the bed before him. Qui-Gon, his beautiful Master; he looked like something out of a dream—hair unbound and spilling over his shoulders. Obi-Wan’s vision blurred slightly. Qui-Gon’s hands came up to cup his face tenderly, thumbs brushing over his cheeks in a slow, soft caress. 

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Qui-Gon murmured. “I know it is. But I know you can bear it.” 

Obi-Wan whimpered, a pleading, pathetic sound. 

Behind him Dooku gave an annoyed growl. “Quiet,” he grit out, and thrust a bit more roughly. 

Qui-Gon caught the resulting strangled outcry, taking Obi-Wan’s mouth in a hard, demanding, thoroughly distracting kiss. 

Dooku was not, apparently, unaffected. His hands eased. The warm grasp on Obi-Wan’s balls went away, and the cool air of the room was almost startling in contrast. Exploratory fingers rubbed behind his sac, came back to tease at his balls just briefly, gently rubbed at the sensitive place under the head of his cock. 

All the while Qui-Gon kissed the involuntary little mewls from Obi-Wan’s mouth, dragged his hands down Obi-Wan’s skin with that firm touch he’d been desperate for all along. 

Dooku released Obi-Wan when he was hard and aching, and pulled back to squeeze his ass. As before, Dooku started up his gentle rhythm: squeezed and released, squeezed and released, like an ocean surf. 

“How does that feel?” he asked, almost solicitous. 

Qui-Gon pulled back, laughing when Obi-Wan tried to follow. “You’d better answer him, dear one. You know how he can get.” 

Obi-Wan, still lost somewhere in the kiss, could barely understand the words. He only understood that he no longer had the firm touch he’d craved, and that Qui-Gon had stopped kissing him. 

One of Dooku’s thumbs rubbed against his rim. 

“ _ Tell _ me,” he growled. 

Obi-Wan nearly sobbed. “Good—please, I’ll be good—” 

“Qui-Gon will be the judge of that. Think he’s ready for you, Padawan?” 

Qui-Gon reached forward again, thumb wiping at the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth. 

“Has he earned his reward?” Dooku pressed. 

Obi-Wan, hard and trembling and mindless with need, would take anything they saw fit to give him. As he was now, both sore and craving their touch to drive him still higher, aching for a release that seemed so close and yet perpetually out of reach, he would agree to anything—just so they would let him come. 

“He’s ready,” Qui-Gon said quietly, and the words themselves felt like a kind of release. 

Only now Obi-Wan needed even  _ more. _

Dooku hauled him back harshly.  _ “Suck his cock,” _ he hissed into Obi-Wan’s ear, thrusting up again. 

He folded Obi-Wan forward, dragged his hips up. Obi-Wan automatically threw out his hands to brace himself on Qui-Gon’s thighs, though no such order had been given. But Dooku wasn’t focused on giving orders anymore: he was focused on his own pleasure, spreading Obi-Wan’s cheeks and fucking into his hole with abandon. 

Through that pounding, Obi-Wan somehow managed to get his lips around Qui-Gon’s cock. Above him, Qui-Gon sighed, the sound of it blissful and instantly unburdened. 

Obi-Wan loved doing this for his Master; he loved how Qui-Gon’s hands sank into his hair, how a fingertip would skate over the edge of his ear, or a warm palm would rest on the nape of his neck. How all the tension Qui-Gon carried with him seemed to melt away when Obi-Wan took him inside. Qui-Gon whispered such lovely, filthy things to him; told him his mouth was perfect; told him the very thought of it kept Qui-Gon up at nights—even now, when he had full access to it. 

Dooku came—with a soft grunt and a particularly hard thrust that shoved Obi-Wan forward. Obi-Wan, only slightly caught off-balance, swallowed around his Master’s length, eyes squeezed shut and body straining not to come. He couldn’t imagine what fresh punishment Dooku would come up with if he did. 

“Oh,” Qui-Gon breathed above him, “you take me so well, love.” 

Dooku simply withdrew, leaving Obi-Wan open and cold, gasping desperately around Qui-Gon. Gods, he was so sore it should have been a relief, but instead he felt  _ so empty— _

Obi-Wan nearly wept. 

Qui-Gon was immediately with him, pulling Obi-Wan into his arms and soothing him. Probably throwing poisonous looks at Dooku over his shoulder, Obi-Wan thought, and choked back a hysterical giggle. 

“There now, my Knight, my own,” Qui-Gon whispered to him a moment later. “Are you with me?” 

Obi-Wan nodded, his face pressed into Qui-Gon’s neck. He was very much in the moment—distressingly so: wet with Dooku’s release and his own on his thighs, sore all over, and still burning with unsatisfied need. 

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured into his hair, nuzzling at the delicate skin behind his ear. “I want you to come in me. Can you do that? Or is it too much?”

“Oh Force, Qui. I won’t last,” Obi-Wan whispered back, regretful. 

Qui-Gon laughed, warm and pleased. “I don’t need you to.” He moved just a little to whisper right in Obi-Wan’s ear— _ “I’m ready for you” _ —and nipped at the lobe, playful. 

They always did enjoy pushing Obi-Wan to his limits. 

He broke from Qui-Gon’s embrace and pushed him down onto the bed—ineffectually, his hands shaking. Obi-Wan felt like every part of him was tensed and quivering. He could feel every stray puff of air, every thread in Dooku’s expensive, obscenely high-count sheets. Qui-Gon went laughing, lifting his legs and holding them up, spread before Obi-Wan like an offering. 

For Qui-Gon, he could hold on. Obi-Wan forced himself to take a deep breath—breathe in, breathe out, and again. Then, carefully, he positioned himself where Qui-Gon wanted him. 

He entered slowly, eyes shut tight and teeth sunk into his bottom lip in a desperate bid to hold himself together. The sensation was so much  _ more _ —hotter, tighter, so much more intense against his sensitive skin. 

Qui-Gon urged him closer, encouraged him along, but he must have felt Obi-Wan wasn’t moving fast enough. He unfolded his long legs and wrapped them around Obi-Wan’s hips, slowly applying pressure, until Obi-Wan’s restraint failed him and he thrust in to the hilt. 

But then Qui-Gon wouldn’t let him go, not even enough to thrust again. “Stay a moment,” he said, eyes gone dreamy and unfocused. “Yes… just like that…” 

Obi-Wan could have wept. He probably had—his vision was strangely blurry again—but his Master looked so beautiful like this. 

“Very pretty.” 

He’d forgotten about Dooku. Or, not forgotten, precisely, but he knew the man liked to watch him with Qui-Gon. Dooku rarely involved himself again after ‘using’ Obi-Wan. 

But sometimes, Dooku had moments of… inspiration, Obi-Wan decided to call it. 

He looked up to see his Grandmaster at the side of the bed, immaculate—like he hadn’t just fucked Obi-Wan into a needy mess—wrapped in his soft, soft bathrobe. 

“Almost perfect,” Dooku told him, as if Obi-Wan had any idea what he was talking about, “but not quite complete. There’s still something missing, here. Any idea what it might be?” 

Obi-Wan hadn’t the slightest. Worse, Qui-Gon was getting annoyed, and Obi-Wan didn’t want anything to distract his Master— 

“Oh yes!” Dooku said suddenly, as if he’d just realised what was missing, and stepped out of Obi-Wan’s field of vision. 

There was a slick sound that Obi-Wan couldn’t place, then a warm hand on his shoulder, a whispered instruction to “Hold still, Obi-Wan.” 

The plug—Dooku had taken the plug, slicked it up, and was inserting it into Obi-Wan’s hole. 

“Can’t have you empty, can we?” 

Dooku pulled away with that insufferable smugness, and a final slap to Obi-Wan’s ass. 

Obi-Wan’s sanity shattered into tiny little glittering pieces. His hips snapped forward, and then there was no stopping him as he blindly chased his release. 

He came hard, and collapsed into Qui-Gon’s chest, barely aware of anything around him. His cock slipping free of Qui-Gon's channel—the sensation was so intense it pulled a shocked sob from him. He was vaguely aware of being rolled onto his back, of Qui-Gon propping himself up over him on one elbow and panting into his neck. 

Seconds later something warm and wet fell on his cock and thighs. Come, he realised: Qui-Gon’s come on him. He was so grateful. 

* * *

Eventually, when Obi-Wan came back to himself, he realised that someone had cleaned him with a warm, wet towel, and somehow gotten him under the covers. He was in Qui-Gon’s arms, tucked under his Master’s chin. 

Obi-Wan mumbled some sort of gibberish into Qui-Gon’s chest, and got a rumbling laugh for his trouble. 

“Ah, I see you’re back with us.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t want to move. 

“Dooku’s having himself a nightcap in the kitchen. He won't be back for a few minutes.” 

Obi-Wan breathed out a relieved sigh and buried his face further in Qui-Gon’s chest. 

Qui-Gon chuckled at that. His fingers teased through Obi-Wan’s hair again. “Are you all right?” 

Obi-Wan considered. “Excellent. Better than,” he added. He shifted—and froze to catch his breath—that damn plug, he’d forgotten. 

“I meant to warn you about that,” Qui-Gon said, apparently chagrined. He stroked up and down Obi-Wan’s back gently. “It’s a smaller one than what you started with, but you have to tell me if there’s discomfort. We’ll take it out.” 

“No,” Obi-Wan breathed, “it’s good.”

“Good?” There was a sly, crooked smile lurking in Qui-Gon’s voice. His hand flowed over Obi-Wan’s back, and then further to cup and squeeze Obi-Wan’s ass on the downstroke. 

Obi-Wan moaned and writhed, throwing an arm across Qui-Gon’s chest and drawing a leg up to curl it over his Master’s thighs. The shifting of the plug in him had him gasping, but Obi-Wan’s cock twitched, painfully, and tried to fill, even at the raw feeling of it. 

Obi-Wan felt raw all over. And yet he knew that if Dooku came back in again and gave him an order, Obi-Wan would do everything in his power to follow it; and if Qui-Gon were to ask him for more, he’d do it all again. 

“I loved it,” Obi-Wan said at last, voice rough and raspy. “All of it.” 

“Mm, excellent. Anything you want to change, next time?” 

“You,” Obi-Wan blushed, “more of you. Your cock in me, your hands on me. Qui, I—I missed you.” 

Qui-Gon pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Obi-Wan’s head, then nuzzled into his hair and breathed. The intimacy of it never failed to take Obi-Wan’s breath away. 

“We’ll have a few days together, and then I think we’ll be assigned somewhere together,” Qui-Gon told him. 

Obi-Wan frowned. “How do you—?” 

“Dooku’s recommendation.” Qui-Gon’s tone was one of studied neutrality, uncomfortable as ever accepting these… “gifts” from his former Master. But then he relented with a sigh. “He’s right, you and I need more time together.” 

Obi-Wan agreed. There was little opportunity for these delicate, stolen moments between them. Obi-Wan craved them, craved the intimacy of simply lying with his beloved like this. These were not intimacies Dooku could easily give. 

Obi-Wan nosed into Qui-Gon’s skin, breathing in the scent of them together. 

“If you’re ready to move, you should probably drink some water,” Qui-Gon murmured. 

“Nn.” Obi-Wan nipped at his shoulder, but Qui-Gon only laughed. 

“And we should probably take out that plug…” 

Obi-Wan muffled a displeased, drawn-out  _ No _ in Qui-Gon’s skin again. 

“Ye gods, Obi-Wan, you must be so sore. Come on.” 

Qui-Gon would not be put off anymore. He helped Obi-Wan carefully maneuver himself into a position where he could drink a little of the glass Qui-Gon insistently pressed into his hands, and even coaxed him into eating a few pieces of fruit. 

“There you are, my love,” Qui-Gon whispered, rewarding Obi-Wan with gentle kisses. 

Qui-Gon was just helping him slip back down in the bed again when Dooku returned. Dooku bypassed them without a word and went straight to the ‘fresher for his own nightly rituals. 

Obi-Wan was finally comfortable again, half on top of Qui-Gon with his face buried in Qui-Gon’s neck, but Dooku’s presence reminded him of something. 

“Qui…” 

“Yes, love, what is it?” 

“Was—was he serious about the binding?” 

Qui-Gon hummed and went back to petting him gently. “We won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Obi-Wan. But if that’s something you’d like to try…?” 

Obi-Wan shivered, and blushed deeply. “I think… I would like that, yes.” 

Qui-Gon muffled a groan. “Gods, I think you’ll be the death of me.” But the feel of him was all warmth and amusement—and interest. Hot, sparking, thrilling interest. 

“Can’t think of a better way to go,” Dooku affirmed, sliding under the covers and settling himself against Obi-Wan. “Rest now, both of you. Chattering over an old Master’s head like birds.” 

Qui-Gon snorted. Obi-Wan ignored Dooku’s jibe with perfect dignity. He let his body go lax between them, and was asleep within moments. 

**Author's Note:**

> *joins quiobi writing discord*  
> *is inspired*  
> *writes smut* 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
